The night was thick with the scent of failure.
Drevon paced the length of his chamber, boots clicking against the marble floor. Torches flickered against the high stone walls, throwing shadows that twisted and writhed like demons. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched. He could still smell the blood of the rogues who had not returned.
Another failure. Another insult.
He stopped before the massive window, staring out at the forest below. The trees whispered secrets he did not care to hear. All he saw was her, Zaria.
He remembered the way she used to look at him, eyes soft with devotion, shoulders bent in submission. The perfect Luna, or so he thought. Until she had stripped that title from herself and left him exposed.
Now she stood in the city, making headlines, commanding power, dari
